


Unworthy

by goldensnitch18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, M/M, Professors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldensnitch18/pseuds/goldensnitch18
Summary: Pansy Parkinson believes herself unworthy of a great many things, not the least of which is love. This story is a Twelve Days of Christmas story which will be updated daily until complete on the twelfth day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedication: Each day I will be dedicating this story to someone who helped me along my ff or writing journey this year. Today, that person is RooOJoy. This beautiful woman is my friend first, but she has also been my beta for work this year. She is a fantastic cheerleader, a promoter of positivity, and a light in my life. Lady, you are so damn special. I am blessed to have ‘met’ you this year and to have you in my life. Thank you so much. 
> 
> Inspiration: The first Paneville I ever read was Darkened Skies. Thank you for introducing me to the pairing thewaterfalcon and for being the very first person to read it and make me feel like I was doing something right here. Also, the plunnie for this was born late one night while reading From One Professor to Another by kci47. Yes, you should go check that out as well.

**September**

* * *

 

The smoke was thick in the air around her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her mother was reminding her in a perfect mixture of condescending and proper that cigarettes were a Muggle triviality, but Pansy couldn’t bring herself to give a fuck. Some things Muggles just got right, and this beautiful rush of nicotine hitting her blood was one of them. Besides, no one was around her here on the grounds. If there was no witness to her chain smoking her way through a good portion of a bottle of Firewhisky, then it couldn’t be held against her.

 

Years had passed since she had felt this way, her entire body aching to do something, even though she knew there was nothing to be done. The letter had arrived at breakfast. Hundreds of students laughing and talking while she read the words. _Days. Maybe a week_ , her mother wrote. Pansy had suffered through her lessons, all the while thinking, _I wish it was you._

 

She was going to have to get someone to cover her classes, a task she abhorred. Her colleagues were nearly all fucking unbearable. They would want to know why she was leaving, and their fake sympathies would make her feel utterly ill. Maybe, she could ask Potter. She could tell him to fuck off and not feel bad about it. He was shagging her best friend, so he was at least used to her now, even if he still didn't understand her. Though, it wasn’t as if he made any more sense to her than he had when they had been students, so she couldn’t really blame him. Maybe she could even convince Draco to do the asking for her, avoid the entire encounter. The Headmistress was sure to frown on that, but …

 

“Pansy?” a soft voice asked, and she jumped.

 

Her cigarette fell into the grass, and she shifted her leg quickly to stomp it out with her foot. “Fuck,” she declared, glaring at him behind her.

 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Neville said, frowning at the bottle in her hand and the pack of cigarettes in the grass. Neville ruddy Longbottom, of course. He was the bane of her bloody existence, always showing up at the worst possible moments. “What are you doing?” he asked.  

 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she snapped and lifted the bottle to her lips to display just how much she didn’t care that he had caught her.

 

“It looks like you're drinking and smoking behind my greenhouses,” he said, not backing down. She much preferred Longbottom before he had helped defeat Voldemort. He was so easy to intimidate before that. He was so easy to ignore before that.

 

“What are you doing out here anyway?” she asked. She’d specifically chosen this spot because there was no reason for anyone to be here this late. If he was a student, she would have docked him points and given him detention. Unfortunately, Longbottom was the Deputy Headmaster, a position that gave him much more authority than the Ancient Runes Professor.

 

“Working,” he replied as if this was obvious. Perhaps it was. He was wearing a pair of those ratty jeans he always wore in the greenhouses when the students weren’t around. She’d seen him like this so many times now that it was almost as familiar as his robes. His dark shirt was clinging to his chest despite the cool night air. She supposed, upon reflection, he did seem to spend many of his evenings holed up out here, his hands in the dirt, his mind on whatever it was that Neville Longbottom found interesting enough to think about. “Can I have some of that?” he asked, bringing her attention back to the bottle in her hand.

 

Pansy stared at it, contemplating whether or not to share, and decided that he couldn’t get her in trouble with McGonagall if he had some as well. It was ultimately an act of self-preservation. He had never given her a reason to suspect he would turn her into McGonagall for being human, but that didn’t mean it was an impossibility. She held it out to him, and he fell into the grass beside her. “Bum a smoke?” he asked just before the bottle touched his lips. She nodded. He handed back the Firewhisky and moved to pull a cigarette from her pack. He lit it with his wand and inhaled deeply.

 

“You smoke?” she asked. She had never once seen him with a cigarette.

 

He exhaled. “Just for a bit after the war and occasionally when we all go out.” He was silent for a few beats, and then, “Why don’t you ever come?” He had turned to face her, his eyes traveling along her hair, her face, her legs crossed in the grass. She moved her gaze away from him, her eyes back on the trees at the edge of the forest.

 

“It’s one thing to deal with Potter. I don’t have any choice, but the rest of them …” she trailed off, trying not to imagine what it would be like to be out with all those bloody Gryffindors. Intolerable at best.

 

“Harry likes you,” Neville said, reaching for her bottle again. She let him take it.

 

“Potter puts up with me,” she retorted. “Not the same thing.” Bloody Potter was always on her about forgetting the past and embracing new friendships. It made her want to vomit. There was not enough Firewhisky in the world to allow her to pretend to be friends with Hermione Granger, or Weasley, or whatever the insufferable woman went by these days. She was pregnant, had been promoted, again, and was saving the world one new law at a time. Some things never changed.

 

“If you say so.” He shrugged as he nestled the bottle back into her lap. The tips of his fingers grazed her trousers as they moved back to his own lap. “So, what did it say?” he asked.

 

“What?” she looked over at him, trying fiercely to ignore the stubble on his chin. Somehow, Neville seemed to maintain this slight shadow of whiskers at all times. It was unclear if he just didn’t understand how shaving worked, or this was some intentional attempt to drive her crazy. Pansy hated it.

 

“The letter this morning,” he explained as he met her eyes.

 

“That is none of your business,” she told him, but even she had to admit that she wasn’t able to conjure her normal venom behind the words. She knew he wasn’t asking out of curiosity. He was concerned, because that was who he was.

 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he shrugged and pulled at the cigarette again. The silence swirled around them, even thicker than the smoke. Pansy tried to think of something to say. She knew that he was trying to be nice. He was one of them, a bloody Gryffindor, and he didn’t know any other way, but she didn’t need nice. She hated nice.

 

“I need to go say goodbye to my father. He’s dying.” The words tumbled from her mouth unbidden, and she instantly regretted them as they caused her throat to tighten and her eyes to sting. He was really dying. There was nothing she could do about it.

 

“That’s shit,” Neville concluded, his eyes full of emotion. Pansy let out a low, quick laugh before she remembered herself and moved her lips back to their sullen frown. “Drink some more,” he told her. She pushed the bottle against her lips, drinking deeply. “So, a letter?”

 

Pansy sighed loudly, trying to expel some of the hate rushing through her body at the thought of her mother’s lack of concern for how this news might feel coming in a letter. “It’s perfectly proper to send a letter, Longbottom. No pesky emotions involved that way. You don’t have to touch anyone or admit that you might be upsetting them.” She reached up to rub at the tension in the back of her neck. The stinging was still there in her eyes, threatening to push tears down her cheeks.

 

She felt his hand on hers, as she tried to keep herself in check. She breathed in sharply, looking up at him. He held her gaze, not caring that she was obviously affected by the movement. She told her hand to pull back, but it refused to comply. “I’m really sorry,” he squeezed the fingers surrounding hers once and then again. “When Gran got sick, and, well, it was hard being alone. You should be around people. Stop hiding in your office all the time.”

 

“I like my office,” she lied. Her office was quiet, clean of memories of past lives and mistakes. It was easy to get lost in her work there.

 

“You can come hide in mine, if you want, I mean, just, if you want company,” he stumbled through words, climbing over the last to get to the next as quickly as possible. She nearly smiled. This was Longbottom from before the war. Every once in awhile, he still showed up to amuse her.

 

“Do you and Potter have some sort of poll going?” she asked as she was finally able to get her hand to cooperate. She moved it away from his to wrap around the bottle where he couldn’t grab it again. “Who can get Parkinson to be their friend first?”

 

“I know you like me better than him. I don’t snog Malfoy in front of you,” he grinned, and his eyes nearly twinkled in the soft light. There was something wrong with this man, or perhaps with her.

 

“True,” she told him. She wanted to keep looking at those twinkling eyes, so she did the only thing she could and pushed herself up from the ground. She brushed off her trousers as she stood. Neville handed her up her cigarettes, and she pushed them into her back pocket.

 

As he stood, Neville told her, “You should quit. Those things are terrible for you.”

 

“Don’t worry, Longbottom. I only smoke when I need to piss off my mother.” She began her walk toward the castle, and he fell in step beside her, his hands pushed into his pockets. His gait was so very Neville - sure of his steps, but reserved in execution. They walked in silence, him seemingly unaffected by the chill of the night as she shivered.

 

“I can cover some of your lessons if you need.” She was still looking straight ahead, but she knew he had shrugged, his arms rolling up as his fingers stayed in his pockets, as if it was no big deal for him to offer. “I can’t do them all, but …”

 

“Yes,” she said quickly at the lull in his speech. “I mean, that would really be helpful.”

 

“I can talk to Harry, too. See if we can cover them between the two of us.” Pansy sighed at this, as if it meant nothing at all that he knew exactly what she had been dreading and removed the issue.

 

“Yeah, I guess, I’ll need them covered,” she told him, letting her eyes move over to look at him once more. He nodded, a small smile on his face.

  
“Just send me what you need. I’ll take care of it,” he said, and the subject closed. At the door of the castle, they went their separate ways without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedication: Today's chapter is for oblivionbaby. This lady is my friend, my beta, and my fellow admin. I'm not even sure what a day would be like without talking to her anymore. I think some days I talk to her more than my husband … actually, I'm sure of it. Grateful that you volunteered to help all those months ago so that we could become friends, and I could get just a little bit better with commas. Thank you so much for everything you do for and with me. Sending all the love to you because you are AHmazing!

**October**

* * *

Rain fell softly against the window in her office as Pansy tried to make sense of the notes that Potter and Longbottom had left for her. She had been home for two and a half weeks. Four days after she had arrived at the manor, her father had passed away as she held his hand. Her mother had been in bed. She couldn't really blame her for that. The woman was raised to host parties and be beautiful. No one would ever accuse her of a gentle spirit or loving nature in difficult times. It was nearly remarkable to Pansy that she had been upset enough to confine herself to her bedroom. In retrospect, she suspected that may have been a result of the overwhelming sense of burden her mother was feeling at the time.

Pansy herself had been unable to pinpoint the exact emotion to describe how she felt as she sat in that uncomfortable chair, which likely cost her father hundreds of Galleons, and held onto his pale, clammy hand. He had been asleep from the potions the Healer had given him for nearly all of that day, and she had been reading. The Healer sat opposite her, monitoring him occasionally while they both sat silently. The room was dark as her mother insisted that the curtains remain drawn. There was a fire lit in the corner of his room, but Pansy still shivered against chills that seemed to originate beneath her skin.

Her father had not been perfect, that much was easy enough to admit, but he had loved her. He had been raised a particular way, just like her mother, and he had done his best to impart the same values and views onto his daughter. For seventeen years, he had been incredibly successful. Pansy had eaten his every word and direction off a silver spoon. She was a Pureblood, a Parkinson, and that meant something, until it didn't.

In the days following the battle at Hogwarts, it had become perfectly clear to her how much it didn't mean. Her father, her best friend, and his father had all been taken to Azkaban and put on trial. Mr. Malfoy and her father had both been sentenced to two years imprisonment for their crimes. Draco had served a probationary period. Potter had spoken on his behalf. Afterward, Narcissa had insisted on reaching out to him, trying desperately to hold onto anything that might help her son to be able to become a functional member of society again, and, somehow, Draco had ended up falling in love with the boy who had destroyed their very lives.

Pansy had been fiercely in search of someone to blame at first, anger and hate filling her bones. She allowed her own mother to pull her into blaming Harry, which had just gone lovely when Draco, her only real friend, had admitted to her that he was dating the boy. It ended in an ultimatum: find it in her to give Harry a real, honest try, or they could no longer be friends. She had been livid but left with no choice.

Watching Draco and Harry had opened her eyes in a way that left no room for going back. They had forgiven each other completely. The idea had been incomprehensible to her at the time. She had been confused and uncertain about what implications this had on everything she had ever believed. Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater, had fallen in love with Harry Potter, the boy who had destroyed their Dark Lord. Draco was suddenly telling her things that went against everything her mother was saying, everything they had both been raised to believe, and she was confused and uncertain.

For the first time in her life, Pansy had slowly begun to think for herself. It had been terrifying. She had been forced to look reality in the face and admit that reality was a cold hard bitch, much like herself. Even now, it was difficult for her to look at Draco and Harry and accept that they could move past everything that had been between them. She looked at herself and wondered how anyone who had known her then, known the girl who had been so ready to hand over the savior, could ever want to be her friend, let alone love her.

So, she had sheltered herself in snark and cynicism and run off to learn a field of study that required little to no human contact. She never focused too clearly on the issues of the past, and she certainly never made friends. She quickly managed to ruin nearly every friendship she had ever had, but Draco refused to let her go. He held onto her with a vice grip, and Harry came with the package.

When she had started at Hogwarts, she had channeled Professor Snape in many ways. She wasn't looking to get to know the students or the staff. She was working, and that was that. The first year had passed in a blur, and then the second, and then he had come creeping into her life. He was made the Deputy Headmaster that year. McGonagall told them all over the summer, and she stared with crossed arms as everyone politely congratulated him. That year, when it came time to share the changes she had made to her curriculum, it was Longbottom sitting next to her, pouring over her schedules. He had claimed that her work was excellent.

After that, it seemed like the man found small ways to infiltrate her walls at every step. He had a student to talk about, a favor to ask, or a message from McGonagall. Slowly, their brief meetings became conversations, and she found herself looking forward to them. It was alarming at best, especially considering that he was Neville Longbottom. She had been nothing but cruel and sadistic to him their final year at Hogwarts. He had been fighting for something noble and honorable, of course, and she was a petty child turning him into the Carrows and making his already difficult life nearly intolerable. The fact that he could tell her a joke and let the corner of his lips tilt up in a smile made her feel a sick sense of self-realization that she had no desire to face. He had forgiven her, but how could he?

She had tried to push him away, to use her hard exterior to dissuade the camaraderie he seemed intent on developing, but it never seemed to work. Over the past two years, she instead started to notice things about him that made her feel increasingly uncomfortable. It had started with the obvious, the way his legs looked in his jeans and that ridiculous stubble, but it had also been the way he spoke to his students, the way he looked into her eyes as she spoke, the things he remembered that she had mentioned months previously.

Pansy knew she was crazy about him. She'd known for nearly a year that she would do anything to have him touching her skin, whispering in her ear, telling her that he felt the same way, but that was never going to happen. Pansy Parkinson would never deserve Neville Longbottom. He was chivalry and warmth, while she was petulance and ice. They were wrong in the way that only two people so completely different could be, yet he had left her precise notes about his days in her room. He had commented on student behavior and exactly what he had covered. He had charmed his lectures to be recreated on parchment for her to read. He had somehow been able to actually lecture on a subject he had never before taught, which was impressive in its own right. At the end of his work, he had written her a note. _Glad to have you back. Come find me if you need anything. Hope these are helpful. - Neville_

Harry's notes were a travesty in comparison, a mass of scribbled marks that she was going to have to discuss with him at length. Her best guess was that he had assigned them the book work she had left and allowed them to work on it in class. That was fine, of course, and exactly what she had been expecting, but next to Neville's precise hand and detailed information, it felt sadly lacking. She tried not to look too much into the disparity, surely Neville was just more careful than Harry, but she felt her mind reading over those three sentences again and again.

_Glad to have you back._

Pansy sighed as she pushed the notes into a stack and promptly placed them in a drawer. She stood, heading for the door of the room. She was acting like a simpering idiot. She needed to get some sleep, take a shower, and reset from being around her mother so much. Once she had done this, she would be able to think straight again and not carry on like a teenager about a man who spent his days digging in dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading !
> 
> xoxo
> 
> Meg


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedication: To habababa who seems to be crazy enough to read anything I write no matter the pairing. Thank you for always reviewing and making me smile. You are so very wonderful.

**October**

* * *

Her sixth years were packing up when she noticed Neville at the door. Pansy forced herself to ignore his demanding presence, staring instead at her students with a disappointed frown. They had actually done much better than she expected from them after her absence, but there was no reason to let them know that. She let her eyes fall down at her desk as she shuffled her own lesson into a neat pile to be filed away in her office. She placed the parchments in a folder as feet shuffled by her desk. She heard several of them stop to talk to him, some even laughing before they continued on their way. He waited until the room was entirely vacated before he moved inside, shutting the door behind him.

Pansy watched him carefully as he moved towards her, no longer able to pretend that she didn't realize he was there waiting for her attention. He stopped next to her, leaning his body against her desk as she remained seated in her chair. His arms crossed, and he smiled easily. "Hey," he said.

"Did you need something?" she asked as if she wasn't drinking in the sight of him with pleasure. She hadn't gone two weeks without seeing him in nearly three years. Even in the summers, they were constantly crossing paths. She had to admit that even the sight of him in his Professor's robes was incredibly welcome.

"Just wanted to check on you," he told her. His shoulders moved up to shrug as he leaned his head to the side and back again as if it was nothing for him to be here.

"I'm fine," she told him. She had received multiple owls that morning informing her that her mother was trying to destroy all of the work she had done before returning to the castle, but she was fine. Her father had left her mother more than enough to get by and their home. Everything else had passed to Pansy. Her mother had reacted to the news by pulling her wand on her father's solicitor.

"Really?" Neville asked, the hint of a frown at the corner of his lips.

"Well, it wasn't the best weeks of my life, but I got everything settled." His proximity was unnerving. There was less than a foot between them as his frown deepened and his eyes bore into hers, reading the lies clearly scrawled out for him.

"Hm." He made a soft noise that made it very clear he did not believe her. "Did you understand my notes all right?"

She pursed her lips. "Well, I can read."

He chuckled. "I would never suggest that you couldn't."

"Then why do you think I would have an issue with your notes?" she demanded.

"Maybe I worded that wrong. Did you have questions about my notes?"

She rolled her eyes, pushing back from her desk to stand. "No. They were very thorough."

Neville watched her, his eyes never moving from her movements as she grabbed her things from her desk. She settled them in her arms and began to walk towards her office door. He followed, and she shook her head. He was silent as she led the way into her office, but his presence seemed to scream more loudly than his words ever could. Pansy moved to her files, pulling out the sixth years' drawer. Neville shut the door once again. She breathed in, focusing on the neatly arranged folders. She moved through them until she found the correct spot and dropped the folder in place. She pushed the drawer closed reluctantly and turned to face him.

"What is it?" Pansy asked. She could hear the exhaustion in her own voice. She wondered how long it would take to fully recuperate from nearly three weeks in that house. She still felt as if someone had pushed her from a broom while flying.

"Are you okay?" he asked in answer. His eyes crinkled with concern, _so bloody nice._

Pansy rolled her eyes to keep from telling him the truth. "I'm fine."

Neville reached behind him, locking the door. She felt her heart skip a beat, and then he was walking towards her. His shoes hit the stone with an echoing determination until he reached her. He seemed to pause for a single moment before his arms were around her. She knew that she should push him away instantly, but she couldn't. He smelled like earth, and his body was warm and welcoming. He was just the right height to rest her cheek against his chest and wrap her arms around his back. From somewhere deep inside of her, a renegade sob erupted from her mouth unbidden. She felt one tear on her cheek and then another. Soon, they were rolling down her face as she silently sobbed against him, the tension of the past few weeks leaving her body as she let him hold her.

Neville didn't move. He didn't pat her back or whisper lies about it being okay. He just stood there, his arms around her, his chin on her head. She had not allowed herself to cry. Draco had tried to talk to her, tried to coax real emotion out at the funeral, but she had ignored him, insisting that she was fine. Her mother had been falling apart at every turn. The older woman had barely been able to make it through the ceremony. Pansy and her uncle had taken turns attending to her at every moment. Pansy wasn't like her. She was intelligent, independent, and strong. She didn't need anyone to constantly support her, to hold her while she cried. Draco had been clearly frustrated, but after several attempts to speak with her, he had realized it was pointless and let her be.

Neville never could leave well enough alone. He wasn't wired that way. He saw a problem, and he barrelled at it. In this moment, Pansy had become the problem that needed fixing. He hadn't even spoken. He had just followed her back to this room, where no one could see or hear her, and locked the door. She hated him for knowing her so well. She hated him for making her feel safe, for making her comfortable enough to fall against him like her mother would. She didn't need this. She didn't need him, or anyone else, to hold her up. She hated him, but she couldn't stop. She was soaking his robes, making a mess of them both, and he held her firmly all the while.

When the sobs had finally given way, and her tears were nearly exhausted, she pulled back. Neville made a handkerchief appear from nowhere, and she rolled her eyes at him again. She waved her wand, cleaning her face, and he shook his head softly at her, a smile on his lips. "You should go," she told him softly, not yet able to muster her normal snark.

"Pansy-" He took a step towards her, but she held up her hand.

"Just go," she told him. She needed him to go, to leave her alone, to let her regain her sense of self.

Neville stood frozen for several long beats and then sighed. "Okay. You know where I am," he told her, and then he was gone, the door shut firmly behind him.

Pansy moved around her desk and fell into her chair. She let her head fall into her arms on its wooden surface, and she took heavy breaths in a careful rhythm as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to recover. She had let herself fall to pieces in front of Neville Longbottom. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she had allowed herself to be so utterly exposed in front of another human being. What on earth was wrong with her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for all the lovely comments about Pansy’s characterization. I hope that I continue to live up to the way you imagine her. Thank you for reading!  
> xoxo  
> Meg


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedication: For Beauty Eclipsed. You were my fourth review when I started writing FF again in January, and you followed me to several other worlds throughout the year. I am so grateful for your support. Thank you.

Pansy lifted her hand to the door of his office and hesitated. She did  _ not _ want to do this. She  _ really  _ did not want to do it. Her mother had forced her hand by filing an official petition to have the will reviewed. She had claimed that Pansy must have either forged the document or taken advantage of her sick father to get him to sign it. It was bullshit, utter bullshit. Her mother  _ knew _ it was bullshit, yet they were going to the Auror office to meet with the head of the department and a member of the Wizengamot the next day to “quickly resolve the issue” anyway. It was just one more way for her mother to control her life, to try to take everything away from her, to punish her for not being who she wanted her to be. 

 

It had started when she could barely walk surely, but the first time Pansy could remember feeling like she was an absolute failure was because of her friendship with Daphne Greengrass. Daphne was exquisite, and everyone - including Daphne - knew it. She smiled and an entire room sighed in adoration. She pouted and the world crumbled to its knees. Pansy paled beside her, shrunken into the shadows with her too dark hair that frizzed if she didn’t use Sleakeasy's hair potion on it daily, her knobby knees, boyish figure, and her ‘grimace,’ which was what her mother called her smile. Dahlia Parkinson made sure to remind her daughter of her many faults, the many ways she failed to measure up to the standard set by Daphne Greengrass, at every opportunity. Daphne learned to bask in, and use to her advantage, the attention of others, while Pansy had begun to find ways to avoid detection when her mother was anywhere nearby very early on in her life. 

 

Her failure to fulfill her mother’s standards of beauty was only the beginning. At eleven years old, Dahlia had assured Pansy that if she was going to insist on being ‘so plain,’ she could at least excel in other areas, such as her academics. Pansy had been privately tutored at home for the first ten years of her life. When she had left for Hogwarts, she had been sure that she would be able to meet this expectation. She was extremely prepared and confident, and then she had met Hermione Granger. For six excruciating years, she was forced to listen to her mother tell her that there was absolutely no way that a Mudblood could possibly perform at a higher level than a rat, let alone a Parkinson. It didn’t matter what Pansy told her. It didn’t matter that Draco was also falling short because he was charming and charismatic and male. It didn’t matter that Daphne wouldn’t know a Bowtruckle from a Blast-Ended Skrewt because she was beautiful and delicate. 

 

When Pansy and Draco had started to date, her mother had - finally - seemed to approve of something she had done. Dahlia and Narcissa began to discuss the possibility of joining their families. Dahlia had begun to coach her at every opportunity about how to act around him, what to say, what to do, what to wear, and even how to feel. It was exhausting. In the end, when she and Draco had ended up fumbling and naked at one of the Malfoy’s Christmas parties trying to figure out how in the world sex worked, he had shame facedly admitted that he thought their was something wrong with him. She had begged him to lie, just pretend that they were still together, and they had. At the end of sixth year, the world had changed. They had stopped pretending sometime in the fallout, and her mother began again. 

 

The world outside their manor was shattered to the cored and Dahlia seemed unaffected by anything except that Pansy wasn’t pretty or smart enough for anyone to ever love or marry. She would be the ruination of her father’s name, the destruction of the Parkinson line. Plain Pansy, what a shame she hadn’t been a boy. A boy would have done them some good at least, even if he was plain. Being plain didn’t matter if you were a boy from the right family. She had the right family. It was her that was wrong. 

 

Through all of this, Pansy strove to be the daughter her mother wanted her to be. She strove to make her father proud. She strove to find something that would make her worthy, but nothing ever was enough. She continued to listen to her mother’s voice in her ear right through the war, right until Draco had threatened her with their friendship. She had told herself that she no longer cared, that there was nothing left for her mother to say, that she had done her damage, but now she was a grown woman, and she was finding that she was very wrong. 

 

Her mother’s voice was there in her ear, whispering that she had been right all along. Pansy had never made anything of herself. She had never been worthy of love. She had never been beautiful. She had never done anything worthy of celebrating, worthy of her father’s name. And, now she was going to pay for it. Dahlia was going to fight her at every turn, do everything she could to keep Pansy from the inheritance left by her father because she was just as unworthy of this honor as she was of any other. 

 

Pansy reached her hand forward, knocking on the door with a hesitance that made her feel ill. She couldn’t even knock on a door correctly. She heard the scrape of a chair from within and then footsteps as he made his way towards the door. It opened a moment later, and he looked out at her with that stupid grin that was his alone. 

 

“Pansy,” he said. 

 

“I, uh, I have to go to something tomorrow afternoon in London. I was wondering if you could, if maybe …” she trailed off, hoping he would get the point and save her from actually having to put words to the favor. 

 

“Is everything okay?” he asked. 

 

“Yeah, of course, it’s just something with my father, you know,” she told him, which wasn’t entirely a lie. 

 

“I can do your class, no problem. I can find someone for the morning if you need.” 

 

“No, just the afternoon is fine,” she said. 

 

“Do you want to come in? We can talk.” He motioned back into his sitting area, and she tried to think of a reason that she couldn’t go sit and pretend like she wasn’t being driven absolutely mad by his proximity. 

 

“No, I should get back. I have some work to do.” She was trying to just look at his face, keep her eyes focused on his, but then it started to feel like he was looking into her soul in only the way he could. 

 

“I can make you some tea,” he offered. 

 

“No. Really. It’s fine. I’ll leave instructions for the lesson on my desk.” 

 

“Okay.” He frowned at her, and she bit her lip, turning to look at the door frame instead of his concern. 

  
“Well, thanks then,” she said, and turned. She was a fucking idiot.  _ Thanks then. Merlin’s bloody sagging tit.  _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedication: This one is for Olivie. Thank you for letting me drive you crazy talking about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for the past month and for some reason reading this despite his very prominent role in it. Also, for Theo because I’m sort of in love with him.

November

* * *

 

“Fuck!” Pansy exclaimed. She had just opened the door to her office to find Neville standing there, arm half raised as if he had been contemplating knocking. “What the fuck?” She clutched at her chest with her hand, feeling the rapid beating within through her fingers. 

 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Neville said, holding both hands up in surrender. 

 

“You never do. Make some bloody noise, Longbottom!” she shouted, and he smiled, shame sneaking in at the corners. 

 

“Sorry,” he said again. 

 

“What did you need that warranted scaring me half to death?” she asked, still breathing deeply.

 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he told her, and Pansy didn’t like the nervous way his eyes flitted away from her and back again. She took a stepped aside to let him into her office. He followed, closing the door behind him. 

 

“Okay, what is it?” she asked. 

 

“So, I was talking to Harry, and, well, he was saying that, well, I don’t even know if I should be saying any of this. I probably shouldn’t. You’ll be upset. I’m just going to-” he put his hand on the doorknob, but Pansy moved quickly, standing between his exit, their bodies much closer than she usually allowed them to be. 

 

“Stop! You can’t just come in here, scare me, start stammering about upsetting me, and then just sod off,” she told him. 

 

“I -” he sighed as he took a step back, letting go of the door. “I was talking to Harry, and he had talked to someone, and he thought maybe something might be going on with your mother.” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he spoke. 

 

“Fucking Weasley told him?” she asked, but it wasn’t really a question. 

 

“No, I did not say that,” he told her, pointing a finger at her. 

 

She glared in response. “Who else would have told Harry?” They both knew it had to have been him. 

 

“It could have been anyone,” he lied, shrugging it off. 

 

“Who else is an Auror that would have told him?” 

 

“Harry knows loads of Aurors. He used to work with them,” he reminded her, but she just continued to give him that glare. 

 

“Longbottom,” she deadpanned.  

 

“Fine, it was Ron” - he threw his hands up - “but before you go crazy, he’s worried about you.” 

 

“Ron Weasley is worried about me? That is ridiculous.” She nearly laughed at the thought. She and Ron were the furthest thing from friends. They rarely spoke and tended to avoid one another. He had made Deputy Head of the Auror Department, though, and apparently, that meant he was privy to the fact that she had been forced to sit through an examination of her father’s will and assets. Her uncle had looked at her with an apology in his eyes as they had sat on opposite sides of a large table. Her mother was beside him, her eyes never meeting Pansy’s. She hadn’t noticed Ron at all, and she had been looking for him, hoping that he wouldn’t hear about this and lead to this very conversation, though she had been expecting it to come from Harry or Draco. 

 

Neville shook his head slightly. “You know, if you weren’t so stubborn, you would see that -” 

 

She held up a hand. “I’m pretty sure me being stubborn has nothing to do with my lack of friendship with Ron Weasley.”

 

“Well, that is just ... bullshit,” he finished, crossing his arms. 

 

“Wh-What?” Pansy stared. Neville rarely swore at her, sometimes in front of her, but never at her. He certainly never accused her of bullshit. 

 

His face reddened, starting at his neck just above his shirt and climbing fast. “You won’t let any of them in. You won’t let them even try. You barely even let me try, and I bend over bloody backward trying, Pansy. I’m trying.” He was desperate by the end of this, his voice shaking. 

 

“I, well, I …” She was lost on what to say, on what to think. This was Neville in a way she had never seen him before. She wanted to close the space between them, hold him in her arms and tell him that he was right, that she was struggling with her father’s death, her mother’s accusations, but that would be utterly ridiculous. 

 

“I’m fucking worried about you,” he told her, holding her gaze. “Everyone is worried about you, and you won’t let me - us - anyone in.” 

 

“It’s none of your business,” she snapped, attempting to regain some control of the situation. 

 

“ _ You _ are my business!” he demanded, moving a step closer to her. Her mind was racing, trying to understand what in the world he was trying to tell her. “I don’t know much, but from what I’ve gathered, your mother is -” 

 

“I don’t want to talk about my mother,” she told him.  

 

“You have to talk to someone,” he insisted. 

 

“Why? Why have I got to talk to someone?” She had never seen the point. She didn’t want to push her problems onto other people, not even Draco, though she knew he would have listened.  

 

“Because you can’t keep living like this!” he was shouting, his body tense. 

 

“I like my life just fine,” she lied. Her life was empty. She was falling apart on the inside, ignoring everything outside of her classroom at every opportunity. 

 

“Really? Because you look pretty miserable from the outside.” 

 

“I - Get out!” she demanded. She couldn’t have this conversation, especially with him, never with him. 

 

“No.” He stood still, unmoving. 

 

“Get out, Longbottom!” 

 

“Stop bloody calling me Longbottom, Pansy,” he growled at her, stepping forward again. “What do you think is going to happen if you say my name for once?” 

 

“Get out!” Pansy told him again. She moved back several steps until her back hit the door. 

 

He followed and planted his hand on the wall beside her. “Say it, Pansy.” 

 

“Get out,” she said. Her throat caught over the weak words. The nerves were entirely gone from his demeanor. This was the man that had swung a sword straight through the throat of the Dark Lord’s snake. This was the man that made her belly flip and her toes curl when she thought of him. 

 

“Say it, and I’ll leave,” his eyes traveled down from her eyes to her mouth. She bit her bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth, and his tongue darted out to lick his own. “Say it,” he said again. 

 

“Neville,” she whispered, and the thrill of electricity that ran through her body consumed her in a single moment. The taste of his name belonged on her lips. “Neville,” she said again, her eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in, closing the distance between them. His lips were soft, the kiss the exact opposite of the conversation they had been having. His hands remained on either side of her as her fingers tingled to touch him, to run across his skin. 

 

“Pansy.” The name was a whisper on her mouth before he was kissing her again, every moment gentle as if he might break her.  _ He might.  _ He might break her because nothing had changed. He was good, kind, and true, and everything she could never be. She was broken, difficult, and nothing he deserved. 

  
“Get out,” she whispered, and he sighed, pulling back to allow her to move. She did, stepping aside as quickly as she could. The slam of the door behind him shook her soul as she fell back against the wall.


	6. Chapter 6

November

McGonagall was at the head of the staff room, her hair pulled into that ever familiar bun as Pansy watched her speak. She was informing them of the students Christmas plans, handing out lists of students who would be staying behind. Only two of Pansy’s Slytherins were staying for the holiday. Harry sat beside her. He was scribbling notes onto a pad, but Pansy was sure they had nothing to do with the Headmistress’ words. On her other side, Neville sat with his arms crossed over his chest, intently listening to the older woman speak. The list of Gryffindors before him contained three names. 

She hadn’t spoken to Neville since they had kissed in her office. That afternoon, she had shouted at Harry in his own office for twenty minutes claiming that it was a violation of her privacy for Ronald Fucking Weasley to go telling everyone about her private business. He had sheepishly agreed, but then made the mistake of claiming that Ron really hadn’t done anything wrong as Harry was still technically listed as an Auror, just in case. 

“Just in case,” she had screamed. “Just in case they need you to bugger them into defeating another fucking psychotic asshole who decides to go on a powertrip?” 

It had gone very well and they were moving on quite well from the whole thing. 

And, she had continued to ignore Neville. 

She had buried herself even more in her research and her classes. She had taken on an additional manuscript from an old advisor, and that was filling any time she may have had to sit around and mope about her mother or the other ridiculous people in her life. She didn’t need any of them. She certainly didn’t need Longbottom or Potter. She started having her meals brought to her office, which the House Elves were more than happy to accommodate, and working odd hours into the night. As long as she still managed her lessons, McGonagall didn’t care how “eccentric” she was. She avoided certain hallways at particular times of the day because she just happened to not want to go near them, that was all. 

Everything was fine. 

“Do any of you have any questions?” she heard, and moved her focus back to woman in front of them. There was a general murmur in the negative, and McGonagall released them. Pansy grabbed the list in front of her, though she was fairly certain she could remember two names without it. She pushed her chair back and stood, moving to leave the room before either of the men beside her could try to engage her in a conversation she didn’t want to have. 

It seemed that Longbottom had other ideas. He stood from his chair just behind her, and she listened to his steady stride as she walked. He kept a small distance between them, but after the third turn, it was clear that he was following her. She considered her options and decided that of all the places to have this conversation, her office or her room were probably the last two places she would want to do it. She needed space. She needed the security of being in the middle of the castle. She dipped into a classroom instead, walking over to the window as she waited for him. It only took a few moments before he was walking in, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t place a silencing charm or lock the door, which she appreciated. They were just going to talk. No shouting. No … well … just talk. 

He stood there at the door, gazing at her across the room. She leaned back against the window, relishing in the cold glass almost touching her neck. 

“You’re ignoring me,” he said. 

“Yeah,” she admitted, not even bothering to deny it. She hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks. It was fairly evident that she didn’t want to speak to him, yet … 

“I’m sorry,” he said. She watched him reach up to his hair, watched his fingers move through it without a second thought. She had been given the opportunity to run her fingers through his hair, and she had sent him away. She hadn’t let herself touch him at all, not even once. “I just want to be here for you.” She cringed.

“I don’t need anyone to save me, Longbottom.” The name slipped past her lips a moment before she realized that it might hurt him. He sighed, shuffled his feet, closed his eyes, and let his head hit the wall. 

“I’m not trying to save you, Pansy.” His eyes opened again, drinking her in, seeing her every fault, her every imperfection. “No one would ever accuse you of needing saved. You will go the rest of your life alone if you choose to, and there won’t be a damn thing any of us can do about it.” 

“I don’t need you, and Draco, and Harry talking about me behind my back,” she told him, rubbing her hands up her arms. She was not a fucking charity case. “I don’t need you trying to figure out what insane thing my mother is doing this week.” 

“What do you need then?” He opened his arms, hands extended in question, offering her … what? “What should I do?” 

“Just … stop trying to fix me.” Pansy was sure she had whispered the words, but he nodded across the room, his eyes burning a path over her skin. “I’m fine,” she said to herself. 

“Okay,” he told her. “I will.” He seemed deflated.

“Okay,” she said back, not sure what else to say to him. 

“I won’t, uh, I’m sorry about … you know,” he fumbled. “It won’t happen again.” He looked utterly uncomfortable at the thought of their kiss. 

“Good.” The word fell out of her mouth as her heart fell into her stomach. It was a mistake. She knew that it was. He knew that it was. It wouldn’t happen again. 

He stood there for a few more moments, as if he was going to say something else, but then he moved, shaking his head. His hand was on the door, and then he was gone, and she was left leaning back against the glass. Once the door shut behind him, she turned, placing her forehead to the surface. Silent tears formed in her eyes and fell down her face. She was fine. 

It won’t happen again.


	7. Chapter 7

November

Draco and Harry’s back door opened, and Harry moved out to join Pansy. They had finished dinner with Draco a few minutes before. “It’s freezing out here,” he told her, running his hands along his arms.

“That’s what magic is for,” Pansy quipped, quite comfortable in the bubble of her warming charm. The garden was cold and dark, but the sky was clear, and the glass of wine Draco had poured for her was only half gone. 

“Glad you came.” He fished in his pockets until he located his wand, casting his own shield from the cold. “He’s worried about you.” 

“I’m fine,” she said immediately, not bothering to consider whether the words were true or not. Draco was nearly always worried about her. The reasons simply changed. 

“I know. We just haven’t seen much of you since your father. Even at school.” He ran an awkward hand through his hair as he shifted his weight. 

“I’ve just been busy. Had to catch up, you know,” she lied. 

“I guess.” he shrugged, the hand sliding down to rub at his neck. “What about our Christmas party? You going to make it?” 

“I don’t know. I hate those things.” She shrugged before lifting her glass to her lips. 

“It would mean a lot to him,” he pushed. Pansy glanced over at him. Harry looked at her like she was broken, something he had surely adopted from Draco. 

“You’re going to the Burrow on Christmas?” she asked, changing the subject without committing. 

Harry frowned, but nodded. “Yeah. Always do. You can come, if you want.” 

She laughed at this. “Oh, yes. You know that is my idea of a perfect Christmas.” 

“They’re good people. You would like them,” Harry said, and she raised her eyebrows at him. He laughed. “Okay, they would like you. You would hate them.” 

“Thank you.” She honestly couldn’t even imagine what a Christmas like that would be like. She had always spent them at home with her parents. They would open gifts, eat lunch, and spend the rest of the day the same way they would spend any other day. The only part of Christmas she liked was the evening she would spend at Malfoy’s house. She and Draco would sneak away as soon as possible with a plate overflowing with delicious food and a bottle of wine he had nicked. 

“You going home then?” Harry watched her carefully as she shrugged. The only way she would go home to spend Christmas alone with her mother was if her life depended on it and maybe not even then. 

The door behind Harry swung open, and Draco walked out with them. “You’re both mad,” he hissed as he took the few steps towards Harry and his charm. “It’s freezing.” He wrapped his arms around Harry from behind, burying his fingers in the other man’s front pockets. Pansy pretended not to notice the soft kiss he placed on Harry’s shoulder. 

“It’s her fault. She came out first,” Harry told him. His body leaned naturally back into Draco. They were utterly perfect. It made her ache. 

“You didn’t have to follow, Potter,” she insisted. 

“I had to ask you about Christmas,” he replied, grinning, as Pansy glared. She knew he was only trying to bring the topic up again because Draco had come outside. 

“You’re coming to the party right?” Draco asked, without missing a beat.

“I don’t know,” she answered again. 

“Neville asked if you were coming,” Harry told her. “I think he’s worried about you, too.” 

“I’m sure he’s not,” Pansy answered, shaking her head, knowing this was another lie. 

“Is he seeing anyone right now?” Draco asked Harry. “Maybe we could work a little matchmaking into the evening,” he teased. He didn’t know. She knew that he didn’t, but it still stung that he was using this to tease her, that he thought her feeling something for Neville would be funny. It won’t happen again. 

“Not since Hannah,” Harry grinned, also thinking that this topic was amusing. After all, who would ever expect Pansy Parkinson to fall for Neville Longbottom? Not Pansy, that was sure. “It’s been a year and a half. He’s due for some romance.” 

She tried not to think about Hannah. Neville had dated her for three years while she was working at the Leaky and training at St. Mungo’s. It had been long distance, and as far as she knew never really serious, but she had already been falling for him towards the end of it, which had resulted in her being jealous of a sodding Hufflepuff of all things which was honestly just unacceptable. 

Instead of letting them see this, she rolled her eyes. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“Come on,” Draco chuckled as he spoke. “How long has it been since you’ve gone out with someone?” 

“Well, the options are so great at Hogwarts, I don’t know how I haven’t found someone.” 

Next to her, Harry pulled gently away from Draco. “I’m going to go get a drink, you two need anything?” 

“No,” Draco said, as Pansy held up her glass and shook her head. They were quiet as Harry walked back into the house, closing the door behind him. 

“So, you just going to be alone for the rest of your life then?” Draco asked. 

“Really, I hardly think that …” 

“Pansy,” he cut her off. “You hardly went anywhere or talked to anyone as it was. Since your dad, I don’t even know how you managed it, but you’ve been worse. You can’t lock yourself away from the world forever.”

“Did you have Harry leave so you could talk to me about getting out there, Draco?” she asked, annoyed.

“It’s not about dating. You know I don’t care if you date anyone. Be alone forever or date ruddy Longbottom for all I care, just don’t lock yourself away from me, Harry, and the people who want to be around you. I know you aren’t going to see your mother, and I’m basically the only person you put up with anymore.”

“I see my students. I have to deal with the other professors.” She knew she wasn’t going to get out of this easily, but she could still try. 

“Harry said you’ve stopped eating in the Great Hall most days, and you haven’t talked to him in weeks.” Fucking Harry. 

“I’m fine. I just -” 

“Stop fucking telling me you’re fine!” Draco nearly growled, and she jumped. 

“Draco!” 

“Pansy! Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. You’re not fine. Something is wrong, and instead of dealing with it, you’re hiding away from everyone, from me. I know Harry had to practically drag you out of the castle tonight. We do talk you know.” The intense gaze of his eyes on hers captivated her, pulling her beyond lying. 

“I’m just … I don’t know. I’m ...” she stuttered, searching for the right word. Lost. Unworthy. Broken. 

Draco sighed, exasperated. “Just come to the party, okay? I know you don’t like Hermione, but Neville and Harry will be there, and Luna. She amuses you.” 

“She is mad,” Pansy declared, but she did actually enjoy Luna. The woman was odd and mysterious and never tried to pretend to like her more than she actually did.

“Yes, and you love it.” Draco leaned in to kiss her cheek softly, and she found her body moving into his, quite possibly desperate for someone who cared to hold her, even if for a moment. 

She tried to smile against his shoulder, but failed. “Okay, I’ll come.”


	8. Chapter 8

December

Pansy was in her office reading essays when Neville came to annoy her about the Christmas Party. She had been trying to be less depressing lately and get them all off her back. She had gone to the Great Hall for meals multiple times and even spoken to the students who had remained behind at Hogwarts. They had all seemed a bit shocked, but Harry had laughed and joined in the conversation, so she supposed she must be doing something right. 

After their discussion in the classroom, she and Neville had fallen back into their former rhythm with each other. Everything seemed to be slowly returning to normal, the way it had been before her father. Even her mother had finally seemed to accept that there was nothing she could do about her father leaving the majority of his fortune to Pansy instead of her. She hadn’t spoken to the woman since they had left the Auror office, but Dahlia had sent her no less than three owls requiring her presence at Christmas dinner, further proving her insanity. Pansy had ignored her mother but written to her uncle to let him know that she was unable to attend. 

When Neville’s tentative knock came at the door, Pansy was staring down at an essay. It was a fairly terrible one, honestly. She sighed and called, “Yes?”

The door was pushed open, revealing Neville’s face. “Can I come in?” he asked. 

She tried not to think about the last time he had been in her office, his lips on hers, hands against the wall beside her. “Yes.” 

He moved inside, leaving the door to her classroom open as he walked. It made her wonder what exactly he thought might happen if he closed it. She couldn’t stop thinking ridiculous things like that when he was around her now. She knew that nothing would happen again, he had told her as much, but it took nearly every ounce of self control sometimes to keep the flush from her face when he did things like leave the door to her office open. He never would have done that before. “The party is tonight.” He shrugged, that familiar roll of his shoulders. 

“I know,” she told him, careful to keep her voice even. She had told Draco she would come, but she had been regretting that promise ever since she had given it. Harry had been pestering her all week, reminding her incessantly, lest she forget somehow between the two owls Draco sent her. 

“You should come,” Neville insisted, his fingers reaching up to rub against his stubble. Her own fingers itched to reach for her wand and curse the stupid whiskers off his face. They drove her mad. 

“No one wants me there, except Draco,” she said. 

“Harry does,” he countered as he moved closer, just one step, but it felt like much more to her. “I do,” he added. She tried not to read into his words, but it was impossible. Things were supposed to be going back to normal. They had gone back to normal, but every movement he made had her second guessing.

“Will you ever just let me be?” Pansy asked, finding some of her sass again, trying to smile behind the words to soften them. She was sure she failed. She felt as awkward as a teenager again, navigating through fumbling conversation with a boy. 

“No. I know what it feels like to be alone at Christmas,” he told her, letting his own grin fall for a single moment into a frown she rarely saw grace his face. What he left unsaid about her mother and his grandmother hung between them. 

“I’m not a charity case,” she assured him. 

“I don’t think you are. I just want you to come to the party,” he told her, his voice calm and even. 

“Why does it matter to you if I come to the bloody party?” she was losing her patience, with him, with this conversation, with her own imagination. 

“Pansy,” he sighed softly, and she resisted every stupid fiber of her body that was reacting to her name on his tongue. Fuck.

“Just go by yourself. I’ll be fine here.” She shifted her attention back to her desk, and the pile of essays that still needed to be dealt with after this one. “These need read, you know.” 

“You have plenty of time to deal with those before the students are back. It’s one night. Come on. We’ll drink and eat their food, and leave them with the mess,” Neville said. She ignored him. “We can make bets on how long it takes Daphne to kill Luna.” Pansy smiled against her better judgment. Pansy had all but fallen out with Daphne, but she had married Theodore Nott, and Draco and Theo had become better friends after the war than they had ever been before it. Luna drove Daphne absolutely crazy with her ludicrous outfits and her nonsensical way of speaking. 

She tried to smother the smile as she let out a small huff of exasperation, lifting her eyes to his face again. The corner of his mouth was lifted into that terrible grin that she hated. “Fine. I’m not staying long,” she conceded. “And, don’t expect me to enjoy it.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” Neville said, and she thought he might be mocking her. 

“When are you going over there?” she asked. 

“Round seven? We could walk down to the village and apparate,” he suggested. 

“Yeah, okay, I guess we can.” Pansy pushed up from her desk. She would need to get back to her room and change.

“I’ll come by your room to pick you up then,” he said, and turned to make his way back to the door. Her mouth had fallen open a bit as she considered this. She thought that … well, it sounded like … but it couldn’t be. It couldn’t. He had said very clearly himself that it wasn’t going to happen again, and if this was a … well … surely it wasn’t.


	9. Chapter 9

December

Pansy had wandered from the group, her hand cradling her glass of wine as she moved through the house. She was intimately familiar with the layout. Draco had forced her to walk through it before he had bought it for Harry, his idea of an anniversary gift. That event was just one of the many things he had done over the years which assured her that, though she was a little out of touch with how real people lived, she wasn’t nearly to the level of Malfoy. She had told Draco it was a stupid gift, that Harry would be offended, and he hadn’t listened. 

Draco had spent two weeks sleeping on her couch in the small flat in Italy she paid for without any of her parent’s money before she had finally snapped at him that a “fucking house” wasn’t something you sprung on your partner, and he had better go back to his “own bloody flat and fucking grovel.” He’d actually heeded her advice that time, and she had returned to living alone, peacefully devoting her days - and nights - to the silent and solitary translation of the text she had been working on for seven months - a task that had not been easy with Draco whining and huffing in the background. 

She’d still been working on the text six months later when Harry had come calling. They needed an Ancient Runes professor desperately, and there was no one else who actually knew what they were talking about. You never have to teach first or second years. The older ones really aren’t that bad. Won’t you just consider it for a year? She’d promised him an interview and nothing else, but then McGonagall had made her an extremely generous offer after the elder witch had looked over her work in amazement. The letters of recommendation from two of the leading researchers in her field surely didn’t hurt. That one year had turned into four more, and there she was, teaching children, a job that no person who ever knew her as a student would have ever suspected her capable of performing. The third through fifth years were nearly intolerable, but the sixth and seventh years occasionally turned their brains on long enough to put together a coherent thought. The work was slightly more satisfying than she had expected and left time for her own research. 

“This is precisely why I asked you to come.” Pansy jumped at the sudden voice intruding into her thought, cutting through the darkness of the library she had found herself in. 

“What?” she asked, too startled to respond with her usual snark. 

“So you could wander off and be alone. That is why I asked you to come.” Neville had followed her into the library. He was grinning at her, his lips lopsided and his eyes bright. “Do you ever just allow yourself to enjoy other people?” She had allowed herself to enjoy other people for nearly two hours. Neville had picked her up right at seven. They had made conversation as they walked, and then apparated to the back garden of Draco and Harry’s home. She had immediately found wine, and Neville had stayed close most of the evening, likely to provide her with the company of someone she didn’t hate as much as the rest. Just a few minutes ago, Granger had started a conversation with Neville and she had slipped away at the first opening.

“I find it exhausting,” she replied, setting her glass down on the nearby table next to an armchair. She looked away from Neville, her feet carrying her towards the bookshelves. Light from the moon floated softly into the room, giving her just enough glow to read the bindings.

“They have quite a collection,” his voice was closer, his body just behind hers. Everything about this evening seemed to be in direct defiance of what he had said before. She no longer had any idea what to think or what to expect from him. 

“I’m aware. I’ve been reading Draco’s books for years,” Pansy informed him. She let her fingers dance along the row in front of her. 

“I added some Herbology, of course, they were lacking nearly all of Telfoot’s anthologies on magical soil cultivation.” As he spoke, Pansy felt, for the very first time, Neville’s fingers gently touch her back. In the dark of the library, the silent knowledge of the room filling the space around them, she was sure that she could ignore it, pretend that she didn’t feel the soft pressure on her back or the way her own body suddenly seemed electrified at the easy touch. Somehow, this simple move seemed more intimate than the way he had kissed her in her office. 

“What a travesty,” she said. “I had to fill some holes myself. Neither of them can read half the books I’ve purchased for them, but it’s not like they would anyway, and what does one get two men who could honestly buy anything in the world they want?” Neville’s fingers spread as his palm came into contact with her sweater. There was no denying the contact now. It was insistent, a patient pressure against her back. 

“I would agree. They are uncommonly difficult to find gifts for.” He took a step closer to her, and she felt the heat of him radiating towards her. Her skin was on fire now, nerves racing without ceasing. He wasn’t even touching her skin. This was ridiculous. “It is good that they don’t seem to care.”

“Yes. Draco was quite terrible at receiving gifts when we were kids. I always tried very hard to think of the perfect thing for him, and it always fell short.” She wanted to lean into him, to step to the side to be even closer, but somehow this ruse of a conversation kept her feet solidly in place, her fingers frozen on one of the volumes. 

“Draco was quite terrible at nearly everything when we were kids. He was a shit,” Neville insisted, and her breath hitched. His fingers had dipped below the fabric of her sweater and found sweet, glorious skin. She had never imagined in all her life that having a man’s fingertips at the base of her back could have this effect on her. Pansy closed her eyes as he slid them in a straight line from one side to the other. She tried to remember the words he had just said, to respond to them in some way, but her brain refused to recall them, favoring instead the thrilling vibrations spreading across her skin as he touched her. When he finally, achingly reached her hip, Neville dug in his fingers, and pulled her hip towards him. The resulting pressure spun her back, and Neville continued the movement until she had turned entirely, her back to the books, her eyes on his. 

Pansy waited for him to lean in and kiss her, but he just stared at her, his face filled with some emotion she couldn’t understand. She had started to wonder if she has misunderstood what was happening here when his hand began to move up her body. He seemed unable to do anything at an acceptable pace this evening, and she felt her desire to snap at him growing with each moment. His fingers trailed up her side to her neck, and then up her jaw, whispered over her ear, and dove into her hair. When he spoke, she shivered. “Eventually, you’re going to have to let someone in,” he told her, and it took everything she had not to let her body slacken against the shelves. “I really hope it will be me.” 

Pansy swallowed, her heart racing loudly in her ears. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t. Even in this moment, with him telling her that he wanted her, and her body nearly screaming at him in response, she couldn’t reciprocate his words. She had no precedent for this situation. Draco had never been passionate with her, which probably had something to do with him being a tool of the Dark Lord and the fact that he’d eventually ended up with another man. She had dated sparingly after leaving Hogwarts. Her studies and career had been chosen for a reason. She wasn’t prepared for this. 

Neville leaned in, and let his lips hover above hers for several long moments. Pansy breathed against his mouth, their air mixing in a clash of invisible strength. She was dying. Her body was aching with the effort of not closing that distance. She twitched, and he smiled, and the sliver of a gap disappeared. His lips were soft for an instant before her hands were at the back of his neck, pulling him in for a desperate, hard kiss. She had no patience for soft and sweet. He had lit her ablaze, and now she needed him to quench the flames, but each shift, each slight bit of pressure of his body on hers seemed only to make it worse, to make her think ludicrous things about him and this room and what they certainly could not do with all of their friends just down the hall. 

She hadn’t made the move consciously, but somehow her hand was touching his skin, reveling in the heat of his side under his ridiculous sweater. She fought furiously against the desire to moan into his mouth as those stupid whiskers scratched her face, but it was far less irritating than she had imagined it would be. 

Neville broke the kiss, pulling back to leave them both breathing heavily. Pansy wanted to say something, she pondered the right words, something to tell him that she wanted this, that she had wanted this for so long, without telling too much, but then dark eyes met hers, and she saw him, that little boy inside of the man. His smile was nervous, and his eyes asked the question she had been trying to answer. “Pans, I -” 

He stopped speaking as she pushed him aside. Her feet wouldn’t move fast enough. She swept down the hallway, blood pounding in her ears as she went, trying not to think about the footsteps behind her or that she was probably making a mistake. She would have to walk back through the party to get her coat and bag, but she didn’t care about those things right now. Her heart was still racing, and she needed to get out of the stifling heat of the house. Instead, her feet carried her through the dining room, into the kitchen, and out the back door. Draco would be annoyed that she had just vanished without a word, but she didn’t care. Neville must have stopped following her at some point because he didn’t follow her into the kitchen. She shut the door behind her, sure the slam must have alerted the entire party to her departure, and turned, disappearing with a crack.


	10. Chapter 10

December

The night of the staff party, Pansy hid from the festivities in her rooms. She told McGonagall that she was feeling a bit sick and was just going to have an early night. It seemed, at first, as if the rest of the staff were going to let her skate by without attending, but then there was a knock at the door. She had set up at her desk, reviewing essays with a cup of tea and biscuits beside her. When she heard the knock, she froze over her work, hesitating until the sound came again. Pansy rose with a sigh, pulling the ends of her sweater tightly around her. The door slid open slowly as she desperately hoped it wasn’t Neville waiting on the other side. 

It wasn't. Potter stood there before her door, a stupid grin stretched across his face. He was in Muggle clothes, and she could tell he had been drinking at the party. “Hey,” he said, reaching up to rub nervously at his neck. 

“Hi.” She stood in the doorway and watched as his eyes flickered back down the hall. 

“Can we talk?” he asked. Pansy let out a huff of frustration, but stepped aside to let him pass. Once he was inside, she shut the door and turned to face him. He ignored her annoyance and walked towards her sofa. She followed, more irritated with him for showing up at each passing moment. She took her seat in her reading chair, pulling the blanket she kept on the arm over her legs. They sat quietly, neither looking directly at the other. 

“So,” she asked, when the silence had stretched far too long. 

Harry shrugged, rubbing his hands together. “So, Neville …”

“He told you?” Pansy asked. The hurt in her voice was embarrassing, but she hadn’t held back her words long enough to be able to conceal the emotion.

“No,” he replied, quick to deny. “Draco had apparently already figured out something was going on. He asked Neville about it at the party after you left. He didn’t want to give it up, but it wasn’t difficult to figure out once Draco said something.” 

“Draco should really mind his own business,” she snapped. She drew her knees up into the chair and closer to her body, and she crossed her arms over them. It was bad enough that Neville knew what had happened between them, which she realized was a ridiculous thought. She hated that Draco and Harry knew as well. And what about everyone else? Had she become the talk of the party after rushing out without a word? She imagined Hermione Granger’s reaction to finding out that she had been kissing Neville at the party, that she had fled him in her uncertainty, in the wake of haunting ghosts from the past. 

“Yes, probably, but he won’t. So, can we talk about it?” She couldn’t deny that Harry fumbling over his words was helping his case. If Draco had come to talk to her, she would have slammed the door in his face. He knew her too well. Pansy had no idea how he and Harry made their relationship work. They were so very different, yet … 

“Fine,” she allowed. As much as she hated to admit it, Harry may be the best person to discuss her issues with if she was going to hash them out. Harry was one of Neville’s closest friends, and he knew her. No matter how she may deny it, she spent more time with Harry than most other people in her life, more even than Draco when work was considered. 

“I think you should give him a chance.” Harry was careful to speak slowly, keeping his voice quiet as if that might help his cause. 

“It’s isn’t about giving him a chance, Harry. He’s …” She struggled with words for him, nothing seemed right. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact moment with Neville that had led her here. It was all of it, everything he was, everything he had been over the past few years. “He’s him, and I’m me,” she said finally. “I don’t …” She flushed at the memory of her words in the Great Hall that day, of the many, many times she had allowed cruelty to be her default, of the girl who had allowed her opinions to be spoon fed to her by a woman she could no longer stand to share a room with. “How I was …” 

“None of us are perfect.” He was quiet for a few moments, but Pansy could see him thinking hard, so she waited. When he looked up at her, his eyes were glazed with more than alcohol. “I sliced Draco open, Pans. He could have died. Everytime I see those scars” - his eyes closed tightly, his mind lost in dark memory for a moment - “but, he didn’t, and he’s mine, and every day I get to make up for that, and he gets to tell himself that he’s making up for whatever shit haunts him, but really, we’re just two idiots that fell in love, and if we can’t have that, then what’s the point? Why did we go through all that rubbish?” His expression was earnest, demanding her to counter him, to argue that his mistakes should never have been forgiven. 

“Sometimes, I think Neville is the only one us worth anything,” she admitted. Harry’s vulnerability seemed to draw the words from her mouth.

“He’s not.” Harry didn’t laugh at her, which she appreciated, but she saw the laughter in his eyes. “He’s a good person, but he makes mistakes. If you do this with him, you will get angry, and you will wonder why on earth you ever thought this might be possible, but those moments are fleeting, and having him is not.” Harry moved his body forward until he was sitting on the edge of the seat and reached out a worn hand for hers. She didn’t move it away, but she didn’t uncross her arms. “You are a good person, too, you know.” She shook her head, not wanting to hear this. She didn’t need him to reassure her of her goodness. She was well aware of the balance of her scales. “You aren’t the same. None of us are.” 

“He deserves better,” she whispered. She was caught off guard by the raw emotion that was consuming her. She wanted to believe Harry, to think that she and Neville could have something real, that she could be enough, but it seemed foreign. She seemed so unworthy of whatever had filled the space around them the other night and made her feel so very alive. 

“Bullshit.” Harry frowned at her, and she remembered the way Neville had said the same right before he had kissed her for the first time, remembered the emotion behind the word. She nearly smiled. “I saw him after you left. You didn’t. He really cares about you. He deserves no more or less than anyone else.” 

She pulled her hand back from his, running them both up and down her arms. She couldn’t help but hope that he was right, a strange and unusual emotion. “Maybe.” Neville was always kind to her surely, but that who he was. He was unfailingly kind to everyone. He probably doesn’t snog everyone like that. She could still feel his lips on hers, his fingers on the skin of her hips, her body aching for more. 

“Come back with me,” Harry urged, waving his hand in the general direction of the door, as if it was that easy, as if she could just get up and tell Neville Longbottom that she was mad for him. 

“No,” she answered. She was never at risk of being a Gryffindor. Bravery was never her strength. Patience, cunning, intelligence, never bravery. 

“He’s there looking like a lost puppy,” Harry laughed sadly at the image. 

“I’m not showing up at the staff party to grovel. I’ll figure it out, okay? Don’t - just - don’t tell him we talked.” She struggled to compose herself, to wrap herself back into the familiar facade she wore like armor. 

“It isn’t groveling,” he insisted. “Just go talk to him. He wants to see you. I’m sure.” Harry reached for her again. 

“No.” She stood before he could touch her, pushing the blanket back on the chair. “Goodnight, Harry,” she said, and this time, she motioned to the door. 

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Pansy. Happy Christmas.” He crossed the room to the door and pulled it open before disappearing outside. She fell back into her chair, closing her eyes against the empty room.


	11. Chapter 11

December

He left her alone until Christmas day. She had buried herself in essays, not leaving her quarters at all. The house-elves happily brought her food, and she had no reason to step out for anything else. On Christmas morning, she woke early, made herself some tea, and bundled up in her reading chair to read a book in her sitting room. She ignored the small pile of gifts at the end of her bed. She didn’t want to know what her mother had sent, if anything, or her uncle, or even Harry and Draco. 

The knock came early as well. She was nearly surprised that anyone was up at this hour, let alone knocking at her door. She tried to ignore the interruption, but it was insistent. “Pansy,” she heard him call from the hallway, and she cringed. It was Neville, of course. She set her book next to her tea and wand on the small table, pushed the blanket aside, and rose to get the door. As she walked, she tied the loose sash of her dressing gown around her body, trying to imagine what she could say to him. 

When she opened the door, he was biting his bottom lip and staring intently. “What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“It’s Christmas,” he told her. His whiskers were just slightly longer than normal. His cheeks and nose were pink, as if he had already been outside. He was wearing jeans and a jumper that seemed to have been knit by hand. There was a plant knit into the jumper. A plant. Only Neville would wear something so ridiculous. 

“I’m aware,” she said. There was something dancing in her abdomen as she spoke, waiting for and dreading his explanation of what he wanted. 

“Are you planning to spend it locked in here, all alone?” he asked. 

“Yes.” She could see no reason not to. She had nowhere else she wanted to be. 

“Let me in, Pansy,” he told her, taking a step towards the door. She stayed in the opening, not moving an inch. 

“Why?” she asked. “If I let you in, that ruins the alone part.” 

Neville took another step closer to her, and his face leaned in as his fingers reached her hip. She could have backed away and slammed the door, but she stood there, letting his lips softly kiss hers. She responded, gently returning the pressure, not allowing her racing mind to steal this from her. “Let me in,” he murmured against her mouth. She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped back, allowing him to walk inside. 

Pansy shut the door and turned to face him. Her back fell against the wall, and she watched him carefully. He turned back towards her, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing at his chin. 

“Draco sent me an owl this morning,” he told her. Of course he did. 

“They interfere more than fucking old ladies,” she sighed. 

“I’m glad he did,” he told her.

“Why?” she asked, again. She was suddenly extremely conscious of her unbrushed hair and her silky dressing gown over shorts and a camisole, which covered but did not do much to conceal. 

“He filled me in on some things.” He shrugged, as if she would ever allow this answer. 

“It’s a wonder he has time to do anything else,” she snapped, crossing her arms. 

“Pansy,” he said, shaking his head as he gave her that lopsided smile. He moved a step closer to her, and her lips remembered the pleasant sensation of them on his just moments ago. They tingled in anticipation and hope. Her mind chastised them. “Spend the day with me.” 

“Why?” she asked, beginning to feel like a fool. 

“Because I’m crazy about you,” he admitted, and she saw, to her immense pleasure, that these words brought a flush to his neck and ears. “I think you like me, too.” 

“Are we twelve?” she asked, but her voice was shaking, betraying the true emotion she was feeling at his admission. 

“Don’t do that. For once, just let me in.” He took another step closer and reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. “I think you are sexy, and brilliant, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you for years now.” 

“Years?” she whispered, trying to believe him, trying not to ruin this, but it was hard. It went against everything she believed about herself. 

“I broke up with Hannah because I realized I had feelings for you. Things had been over between us for months really. I was just the one that said it outloud. At first, I thought you genuinely weren’t interested. I thought you had someone, or I just wasn’t your type, but I started to see things, moments …” She closed her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her just below her ear. 

“Yes,” she said softly, urging him to continue. 

“I started to realize that you really didn’t want to let anyone in, but I still didn’t understand why. I just - I just wanted you to give me something.” He was whispering in her ear and hot desire seemed to travel down her neck to pool between her legs.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, perhaps the first time she had said these words in years. She certainly couldn’t remember the last time. 

“When you started crying … I thought … maybe, finally, but then you sent me away, and I was so frustrated.” His fingertips found the sash she had carelessly tied, pulling it loose with ease. 

“I didn’t … your … I just …” She struggled to find the right words, to explain, but her body was frozen, captivated by the awareness of her gown falling open. 

Neville pulled back, his eyes meeting hers. “Pansy, I love you. I don’t care who you used to be.” 

“You can’t possibly-” she protested, but he kissed her hard, one hand coming up to cup her neck as the other slid under her shirt. He pressed her back against the door, and she gave up protesting. She wound her hand up into his hair, feeling it - finally - between her fingers. 

When he pulled back again, she was breathless. “Don’t say that, please,” he begged, and she saw the vulnerability in his eyes for the first time that day. 

“I won’t,” she promised. She wanted to tell him, but she opened her mouth and nothing came out. The words just sat there, stuck in her throat.   
“Spend the day with me,” he told her again, though she knew it was a question. Even after all of this, if she told him to leave, he would. 

“And, what would you suggest we do?” she asked, finding her voice. 

He smiled against her lips, knowing that she was agreeing without having to say the words. “We could go to the Burrow.” 

“I would rather die,” she told him. Draco could have his bloody Potter and Weasley’s. She was perfectly fine avoiding the lot of them. 

Neville chuckled, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “We could read, or get something to eat,” he suggested, but the thumb under her shirt began to rub soft circles against her skin. 

“I can do that without you.” In fact, she had been doing that very thing without him before he arrived. He had interrupted a perfect morning. Her tea would likely be cold after this. It was a waste really. 

“We could play chess,” he suggested, and his hand resumed its upward movement. 

“I despise chess,” she snapped. 

“We could...” His soft words trailed off as his hand found her breast. His thumb resumed its circles over her nipple as she let her eyes fall shut. 

“We could,” she agreed, her heart in her throat. What was she saying? What was she doing? For so long, she had fought against this with everything she was, sure that he was too good for her, that she could never be enough, and now … now he had told her he loved her. Neville Longbottom was in love with her, and any reason that may have one day kept her from falling to pieces in his hands was long gone. 

“Pansy.” The way he whispered her name against her throat was the very way men whispered about their deepest desires in the dead of night when no one was watching, and the desire between her legs ached for him to touch her. 

“Long-” she began, but he put a finger to her lips. 

“No.” He nipped softly at her skin with his teeth. “Say it.”

“You’re a prat.” He chuckled again against her skin, and she reveled in the vibrations. He had just begun to touch her, and she felt near delirium.

“Say it.” He demanded, and his fingertips lightly grazed down the skin of her neck. She let her head fall back as they were replaced with his lips, softly sucking at her skin. “No more Longbottom.”

“Neville,” she breathed the word, hardly loud enough for her own ears to hear. 

“I didn’t hear you.” His breath was hot on the soft swell of her breast. His hand pushed at the silk on her shoulder and it fell down her arm.

“Neville,” she said again, his name delicious on her lips as she shook the gown off the other side. “Neville.” Her voice was terrible, not at all her own, but his hand was on her thigh, climbing higher. 

“What do you want, Pansy?” he asked, and she hated him for it in the way that she only ever hated him. It was painful to give him control, to give him all her cards. 

“Fuck,” she hissed as his fingers lingered on the band of her shorts. “You know what I want.” 

“Tell me anyway.” Even through the soft fabric, she could feel the smile against her breast. He was such an ass. Her ass. 

“What do you want?” she asked instead of answering. 

Neville moved his lips back to her ear as his thumbs began to press down on her shorts. “I want to taste every inch of you,” he whispered. 

She bit her lip to hold back a whimper. “That would be okay, I guess,” she told him, but her hands were pulling up on that fucking plant jumper and the undershirt beneath it, sliding them up over his chest. Once her shorts had pooled at her feet, he allowed her to lift it over his head. 

“Tell me what you want,” he said again, meeting her gaze, as she let her fingers trace his skin. 

“You,” she said simply, unable to articulate anything beyond that. Pansy was only capable of giving up so much. “Just touch me, you ass.” 

He laughed again, and she let out an annoyed growl as she pulled at his trousers and pants. His shoes were kicked off a moment later, and Neville Longbottom was standing in front of her naked. She licked her lip as her eyes moved down his body. He moved forward, no doubt to attempt to drive her crazy again, but she shoved him back, pushing her hands against his chest. His eyes grew wide as she smirked, but he let her move him back across the room until his legs bumped into her reading chair. He fell down into the chair, resting his hands on the arms at his sides. 

“We could have gone to the bed I happen to know you’re hiding behind that door over there,” he told her. 

“Later,” she said, pulling at the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head. 

“It wouldn’t be you if everything went as I expected.” Neville’s fingers looped in the sides of her knickers, moving them down her legs.

“You were expecting to get into my bed?” she asked, feigning offense. 

“I was certainly hopeful.” She moved over him, climbing slowly into his lap as his hand grazed up the inner part of her thigh. 

“You think I’m easy?” she asked, her forehead moving to rest against the back of the chair beside him as his fingers slid across her slit before they buried inside of her. She gasped at the sensation and rocked her hips against his hand. 

“Yes, Pansy. I would definitely describe the process of wooing you as easy.” His thumb swirled against her clit, causing her to tremble above him as she cringed. 

“Don’t ever say wooing again,” she demanded as she moved one hand to steady her against the back of the chair while the other reached between her legs to wrap around his cock. Neville’s breath caught against her neck as she began to stroke him. She moved her hips, positioning them over him, and he withdrew his hand to allow her to slide down his length. She moaned and moved to kiss him as her body began to rock into his. She tried to push away the constant stream of thoughts that had been flooding her mind since he had told her that he loved her, but it was impossible. They had quickly fallen back into themselves, sparing words and lighting fires, and she had no fight or resistance left in her. She wanted him and just maybe they could be like Harry and Draco, healing wounds that ran deeper than anyone else might be able to imagine or understand. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Neville said sliding her hair from where it had fallen into her eyes so that she could meet his gaze. He was staring at her with adoration like she had never seen before, and she nearly faltered in her movements. She believed him. She could see the truth of his words in that expression, feel it in the soft brush of his hand over her skin. He was worshipping her, feeling every inch he could reach with the pads of his fingers. She leaned forward to bury her face in his neck, and he stopped her with a kiss, and his hand in her hair, pulling her gently back. “Don’t hide from me.” 

“I’m not hiding,” she lied. 

“Yes you were,” he said, and he moved his mouth over her breast. Pansy arched as she rode him, focusing on the sensations of him sliding inside of her, his tongue dancing across her nipple, and his hands on her hips. His fingers dug into her skin, and he began to rock his hips up, meeting her movements with his own. With each thrust inside of her, she bit her lip hard, not wanting to let the words forming in her mind slip past them in the midst of this. 

Her hand slid down her body, fingers finding her clit, moving her closer and closer to climax. Neville’s mouth had moved to her neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin as small incoherent noises began to slip from her mouth. “Neville,” she moaned, hoping he would understand. 

“Pansy,” he responded, his breaths coming heavy against her shoulder as they moved in tandem, and Pansy began to shake. She fell against him, head resting on the chair as her hips continued to move, and his cock and her fingers pushed her to the edge. She bit down on his shoulder as she came, ripples of pleasure mixing with his satisfied cry of pain. As her walls seized around him he gripped her harder, shuddering as he muttered, “Fuck,” and then they were limp in the chair, their hearts rapidly beating against each other's chests. 

“Neville,” she whispered. 

“Yes?” he asked, and his hand briefly came to life to gently stroke her ass.

“Happy Christmas.” 

“Happy Christmas,” he laughed and turned his face to kiss her cheek, and she pushed back enough to meet his lips. As they kissed, she moved her body, settling herself in his lap. 

“I love you, too,” she said softly, half hoping he wouldn’t hear. He just kissed her head and pulled at the blanket laying quite haphazardly on the arm of the chair. He moved it over them, and she closed her eyes, soaking in the contentment floating throughout her body.


	12. Chapter 12

One Year Later

“You look hideous in that jumper,” Pansy said. She was putting her earrings in at the bathroom mirror as she watched him in the reflection. 

Neville finished pulling the hand knit plant jumper down and moved over to stand behind her. “Really?” He put his hand at her waist before leaning in to kiss her neck. “You always seem to have such trouble keeping your hands off me when I wear it.”

“Because it belongs on the floor or in the bin,” she insisted. It wasn’t that at all, and they both knew it, but she could never actually tell him that the sight of that terrible thing always reminded her of last Christmas. It was utterly wrong to have such a reaction to such a horrible piece of clothing. 

“Hmmmm,” he muttered. His fingers were under her shirt dancing on her skin. “It makes Molly happy,” he told her. “I’ll happily let you tear it off tonight.” 

“I could do it now, and we could stay,” she suggested, moving back to press her body against his. 

“We’re going. You owe me.” He grinned into the mirror, and she looked down to grab her necklace. She couldn’t meet his eyes with her mind on what he’d done to her in her office on the last day of classes to earn that particular favor. 

“Fine,” she told him.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” he insisted. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sure,” she muttered. He took the necklace from her hands and clasped it behind her neck. 

“Are you ready?” he asked. 

“I suppose.” He led the way out of the bathroom, and she stopped to grab her purse from the bed before they left.

Twenty minutes later, Ron Weasley was standing in front of them wearing a jumper just like Neville’s with a large R on the front instead of the plant. Pansy was sure it was not the last one she would see that day. “You made it,” he said loudly, “Harry, Neville and Pansy are here,” he called into the chaos behind him, and Pansy gripped Neville’s hand tightly as she took in the sight. There were people everywhere, most of them with brilliant red hair. “Come on in,” he told them as he stepped aside. 

From the mass, Harry stepped forward to greet them. “You’re actually here,” he said, and Pansy held back the retort on her tongue. 

“Sorry. We’re a bit late,” Neville told him as they clasped hands. 

“No problem. We know you had a late night.” Harry moved over to her and pulled her in for a hug against her will. “Congratulations,” he said softly against her ear, and she murmured her thanks. There was no reason to make a fuss. 

Ron was leading Neville into the throng ahead of them and clapped him on the back. “You lucky bastard,” he told him, and Neville shook his head while he laughed. 

“Draco’s irritating Molly in the kitchen. Let’s go find him. They will have wine,” Harry told her. 

“Take me there now,” she insisted, grabbing his arm. Harry just laughed, but led her after Ron and Neville further into the house. 

Draco was already pouring her a glass of elf-made wine when they reached the kitchen. “Here you go,” he told her, as he handed it in her direction. 

She reached for the glass and suddenly her hand was held by another as Molly began to shriek and hug her tightly. Pansy struggled to breath for a few moments until the other woman released her. “Oh my goodness,” Molly let out a happy sigh and pulled up her apron to dot at her eyes as Pansy stood stunned before her. Harry was trying not to laugh and failing miserably while Draco shoved the glass into her hand. 

“Take it,” he said. “You’re going to need the whole bottle.” 

“Have you decided on a date?” Molly asked, ignoring him. Pansy stuttered out a few incoherent noises until Draco pushed the glass to her mouth. 

“It’s been twelve hours, Molly,” Harry reminded her gently. “They probably haven’t decided much.” 

“I suppose that’s true. Oh, Pansy, welcome to the family.” She wiped at her eyes again and started to look around the kitchen as Pansy stared. “Where is Neville?” 

“He’s with Ron,” Harry told her. 

“I have to go find him. Draco, you can handle everything in here?” she asked, but she was already halfway out the door. 

“How the fuck did I just become part of Weasley’s family?” Pansy asked, looking between the two men. 

One corner of Draco’s mouth was turned up in a smirk as he turned to check on the food, and Harry was full on laughing now. “Molly tends to adopt strays.” 

Pansy’s eyes grew wide as she remembered the jumper Molly had made Neville. “She is not going to make me a jumper,” she stated, and Draco actually snorted. 

“Good luck with that,” he said. 

“Why didn’t either of you tell me about this?” she asked, and she drank deeply from her glass, emptying half of it with one pull. 

“We weren’t sure if you loved Neville enough not to say no,” Harry teased. 

“I hate you both,” she told them. 

“You’ll get over it,” Draco assured her. 

“You hate us less than everyone else,” Harry added. 

“I’m going to find Neville and kill him,” she told them as she topped off her glass. She moved out of the kitchen, searching for her fiance who had failed to inform her that she was somehow joining this family by accepting his proposal the night before. She was not now, nor would she ever be okay with being a Weasley, and she certainly was never going to wear a fucking Weasley jumper. There were some things more important than love, and that was certainly one of them. It was one thing that the sight of him in his own stupid jumper made her knees a bit weak, but wearing one? There was no way. Draco may have lost his mind and his sense of decency when it came to his clothing on Christmas, but she was certainly not going to let that happen to her. 

Pansy moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations as she walked from nearly everyone. News, apparently, traveled fast. She spotted Neville talking to Molly. The matriarch was weeping outright now while Neville held Hermione and Ron’s daughter, Rose. The girl was, without a doubt, Pansy’s favorite Weasley. Her curls were clipped back in small red bows, and she giggled as Neville bounced her on his knee. She was nearly a year old now and every time they were with the couple, Neville would scoop her up and make her laugh, causing Pansy to feel things she never thought she would feel. 

If it wouldn’t have been the most scandalous thing Hogwarts had been forced to endure from a Professor in nearly a century, Pansy was sure he would have already been on her about having one of their own. The idea, which would have been repellent to her in the past, was slowly growing on her. As she watched, Ginny Weasley approached Neville and her mother, cooing as she reached for her niece. Neville handed over the baby and looked around the room for her. He excused himself from Molly, hugging her before he made his way through the groups of people. He only stopped once to greet one of the older men she didn’t know before continuing towards her. 

When he reached her, he put his arm around her waist, and she let her body naturally lean towards him. “You want one,” she said quietly, her previous annoyance with him forgotten. 

“Yes,” he said. She looked over at him, and he met her gaze. “You won’t be anything like her,” he told her, reaching into her deepest insecurities. 

“You can’t know that,” she said. “Maybe I will be awful in an entirely different way than her.” 

“No, you won’t. You may teach our children to be sarcastic and hate handmade jumpers from a young age, but you would never make them feel unloved.” His hand squeezed at her side. “I want a baby with you,” he murmured into her ear. 

“Speaking of handmade jumpers,” she began, attempting to change the subject. “I am not wearing one. Ever.” 

“Fine,” he said, giving her that stupid grin. “Have a baby with me.” 

She stared at him, trying to find a reason to say no just because he had caused her to be welcomed into the Weasley’s family today, but she couldn’t think of a single one. She loved him, and he was going to be an incredible father. Easily better than she would ever be at mothering, but she would try. “You’re changing nappies,” she told him. “I’m not getting stuck with all the shit jobs.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. 

“And, it will have to be sometime in the summer. I’m not taking time off work,” she added. “My fellow Professors are abysmal.” 

“Of course they are,” he said, shaking his head. 

“And, you’re -” 

Neville kissed her, cutting her off. “Shut up, love.” he said sweetly, before he kissed her again, his hands wrapping around her body to pull her in tightly. 

“Oy! There are children here!” someone called, surely bringing a great amount of attention to them, but Pansy couldn’t possibly have cared less.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I hope that you like this first chapter/bit/day of this story. It was a little something that jumped into my brain and wouldn’t let go, so I just had to write it down. I meant it to be an OS, but it got a little long for that, so I turned it into my Christmas project. 
> 
> I’ll be back tomorrow with another chapter ! 
> 
> xoxo  
> Meg


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